


no one ever told me

by ivelostmyspectacles



Series: TMA High School AU [5]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Sad Making Out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-11
Updated: 2019-08-11
Packaged: 2020-08-19 01:08:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20201224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ivelostmyspectacles/pseuds/ivelostmyspectacles
Summary: “Oh, don’t be so tense.” Tim, to his credit, sounds a little embarrassed, too. “Just… hold me a bit. I guess.”“Right."[High school AU set after Danny's disappearance]





	no one ever told me

**Author's Note:**

> they're out of high school in this bit but, same universe! they all knew Dan p well in this verse orz

_ No one ever told me that grief felt so like fear. _ \- C.S. Lewis

Jon really, really does not want to be here.

He knows that’s a really terrible thing to think. He’s kept it to himself, obviously– he doesn’t need anyone telling him about _ tact _ on this one– but, oh God, large crowds make him uncomfortable and the subject matter is even worse. A celebration of life for Danny, of all people… little Danny, someone they’d grown up around for the past decade, almost. And he’s _ gone, _ missing for weeks, although Tim has been vehemently claiming “he isn’t coming back” without _ explaining, _but it isn’t exactly something they can push him on. It’s not like they want to.

Just like Jon doesn’t want to be here.

He’s not good at grief. He never has been. Part of him thinks it’s because he’d been touched by tragedy so young. First his parents, and then witnessing… whatever had happened with the boy and his book, and more recently, his grandmother’s passing. Jon is… _ used _ to death, he thinks, which is probably frightening in its own way. But it doesn’t really scare him. _ He’s _ still scared of dying– that’s an innate, personal fear, isn’t it?– but grieving… he’s just not _ good _ at it. He just doesn’t really feel what he thinks he ought to be feeling, and it makes… situations like _ these _ so very uncomfortable. 

He’s still waiting on someone to blow up for him for not looking sad. Sasha had been crying since she’d seen the notice on the television weeks ago. Martin, too. And then there’s Jon, who hadn’t even cried when his grandmother had died. He hadn’t understood why, then, he hadn’t felt the urge to cry like everyone else had been.

He still doesn’t, really.

Rationally, he knows it’s just another form of coping. He had taken a psychology class, and he'd been to all kinds of grief counseling when he was younger. But being rational doesn’t exactly help, especially not in times like these, and Jon just… wants to escape before he makes it worse.

He goes to use the upstairs bathroom strictly for the fact that upstairs _ is _ off-limits. It isn’t as though they’re strangers. He’s been at Tim’s a few times. All three of them have. Less than planned, probably, after Martin had dropped out of sixth form for full-time employment, and the other three of them had gone to university. Life had gotten busy. Life hadn’t been kind, even when he eventually joined on at The Magnus Institute with Sasha and Martin. They had been in the same building for years now, but always seemed to miss each other or just… were too busy. And Tim, they hadn’t talked to him much. The occasional meet-up, usually at Tim’s or Jon’s because they were the only ones without a) a parent or b) an unfamiliar roommate living with them, and talking to Tim the past few weeks had been terse, and lacklustre, and _ sad. _

Jon can’t blame him. Even if he isn’t good at grief, he’s still sad, too. Yes, he knows that doesn’t make much sense, being sad but not able to properly access the emotional response to it. Around and around in circles– but whatever they’re feeling, or _ not _ feeling, has to come nowhere close to what Tim’s having to deal with and Jon, he… he just doesn't want to imagine it.

He pushes the bathroom door open, and jerks to a halt when he realizes Tim’s slumped at the sink, head in his hands, and everything about his posture _ does _ scream grief. Jon can recognize that, at least.

He _ really _ hadn’t thought anyone was up here. He doesn’t know if this is less awkward or _ more _ awkward, of all the things he could have walked in on. He’s starting to think it’s more awkward.

Tim raises his head, and looks positively livid for a moment. It’s broken when he realizes that it’s only Jon, hovering awkwardly in the doorway. His face softens, a little. But his hair’s still hopelessly tousled, and his cheeks aren’t damp but his eyes are, and Jon’s just… _ horrified, _ because he’s walked in on Tim about to cry.

It’s not like he’s seen much of Tim since all of this with Danny had started, but… he hasn’t seen Tim cry over it. Not once. Actually, Jon’s hard-pressed to remember a time where he’s seen Tim cry at _ all. _ It’s so completely _ unsettling _ that it makes Jon’s heart lodge somewhere in his throat, and all he can manage is a strangled, raspy breath of air in what’s meant to be an apology that he can’t find the words for.

“Oh. Jon.” Tim’s throat works in a swallow, and then he’s turning away, to the singular window in the bathroom where the curtains are drawn. Jon pretends he doesn’t see him rub his eyes as he goes. “You generally _ knock, _ you know.”

“S–Sorry.” Finally, he manages that apology. He has to clear his throat to continue, because his mouth’s gone dry. “I just…” _ Didn’t want to deal with the rest of the people downstairs, so I considered myself important enough to come up? _ “… didn’t expect anyone was in here,” he says, pathetically, instead.

“Yeah, well.” Tim breathes in, and then pivots to face him again. His eyes are still red, but he’s blinked away the tears in them. “Had to get away from them, too. Can’t handle all the _ I’m so sorry_s and _ I can’t imagine what you’re going through, Tim. _ I just…” He stops, and then shrugs, a tiny, minute motion that barely reaches his shoulders. “I can’t go back down, right now.”

Jon… has no idea what he’s supposed to say. So he just stands there, because the night has been _ I’m sorry_s and _ I don’t know how you’re handling it_s, and Jon hates that kind of platitude, too. If he says it now, he isn’t sure if Tim would scream or _ cry, _ and neither of them wants that. Neither of them wants _ either _ of that.

Tim’s the one who apologizes instead. “Sorry.” He gestures vaguely at the toilet, self-deprecating. Mocking. “Bathroom. You didn’t come here to talk to me. So, I’m gonna go. So you can go. Ha.”

“Tim…” He doesn’t know what he’s about to say. It’s probably a good thing that Tim interrupts so he doesn’t get the chance to. 

“I need to sit down a bit, anyway. Tired. Haven’t been sleeping well.” Another tiny, horrible laugh. “Who woulda guessed?” Before Jon can say anything, Tim steps out and pulls the door closed behind him.

Jon sighs. He feels the agony strike somewhere in the middle of his chest, cracking through how numb he’s been about the whole thing. And then it wavers, and he pushes it away. _ Yes, _ he is sad. But Tim is so much sadder. Neither of them are processing it very well. Jon doesn’t even know if he should be comparing himself to Tim, in this situation, anyway. Danny was just a _ friend. _ Danny wasn’t his _ brother. _

When he leaves the bathroom after lingering overlong in drying his hands, something pulls him towards the bedrooms. Tim’s room on the right, Danny’s on the far left at the end of the hall. It’s probably an invasion of privacy when he looks into Tim’s, even if he’s been in there before. It’s absolutely rude peeking into Danny’s room, but Tim’s there, sitting on his brother’s bed, looking despondent as hell, and Jon hesitates in the doorway again.

He doesn’t really know what he’s doing, but, probably, Tim shouldn’t be alone. Even though he knows from experience that that’s probably what Tim _ wants _ to be.

Tim laughs the same hollow laugh when he notices Jon, but he doesn’t seem surprised. He just… gestures him over, and Jon goes like he’s on autopilot.

“If somebody has to come stick their nose in, I’m glad it’s you.” Tim slumps a little more as Jon sits next to him, and then actually leans against his shoulder when Jon shifts back to sit in the middle of the bed like Tim is. “At least I know you aren’t going to give me the _he’s with God now_ _but_ _he’ll always be with you, too_ speech.” Tim fidgets, and Jon can’t see his face from this angle, but he can hear the derision in his voice when Tim continues. _“God._ I don’t even believe in God. If God was real, he wouldn’t have let _this_ happen–” He stops, and sucks in a breath, and sinks lower, head practically on Jon’s shoulder now.

Jon still doesn’t really know what he’s doing, but he settles his hand at Tim’s arm and just… holds him, a bit. It’s awkward. A lot awkward, because Tim’s older and taller and generally more put together.

Tim eventually notices, too. He laughs, and kicks his shoes off. “Christ, you’re hopeless, Jon.” But before Jon can apologize, or even be irritated, if this were a different situation, Tim presses on. “We’re both hopeless… hey, if I lay down a bit, you think someone’ll _ immediately _ come prowling for me?”

“No.” _ Maybe. _He doesn’t say. If Tim had wanted to be left alone, they should have closed the door. But nobody’s come looking yet, except him, so maybe they’ll be safe for awhile. “Not right away, anyway,” he adds, and Tim nods.

“Right. You’re my pillow, then.” He slouches down to put his head in Jon’s lap, and then curls up into an impossibly small space and closes his eyes.

Jon doesn’t have the heart to mention there are _ actual _ pillows at the head of Danny’s bed. Besides, he probably knows. 

“Oh, don’t be so tense.” Tim, to his credit, sounds a little embarrassed, too. “Just… hold me a bit. I guess.”

“Right.”

He’s reminded of something Georgie had used to do– her fingers in Jon’s hair, just… touching. Stroking. Combing through the tangled mess (Jon’s hair did that, a lot, especially the wavy bits after a shower) and it had always just been… nice. So relaxing. So Jon, tentatively, threads his fingers into Tim’s hair. He almost panics when Tim makes a tiny, startled noise, but then… Tim just seems to exhale all at once, and settles in, and Jon takes it as tacit permission to continue.

He doesn’t know when Tim falls asleep, but it doesn’t surprise him.

He doesn’t know when _ he _ falls asleep, either, but he’s waking up an indeterminate amount of time later, with Tim’s head pillowed about his midriff and his own arm securely around Tim’s chest. He makes a tiny noise of awareness, and Tim’s eyes flick up to look at him.

“You’re awake…” Jon manages. 

“So are you.”

Jon grimaces, trying to stretch without dislodging Tim, who doesn’t want to seem to want to move. “Didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

Tim shrugs. “It’s a bed. It’s only been about an hour. No one’s come looking. Don’t think they care.”

“Maybe they just know you want to be alone.”

“I dunno. _ You’re _ here.” Maybe he senses Jon’s getting antsy, like this. He shifts off, squirming until he’s laying next to him instead. “Glad you’re here, though, I think.”

“You think?” Jon repeats.

“Don’t know much right now, do I?” Tim shrugs, again. “Best I’ve slept in a while, though.”

“Oh.” That’s… not what he’d expected. “I’m… glad.” He is.

“Yeah.” 

Tim just _ looks _ at him, like he’s waiting for something, like Jon’s meant to be saying _ anything _ but he doesn’t know what, so he just… stares back, bleary, with his glasses jabbing him uncomfortably where he’s still laying on them but he’s too groggy to move right now.

Tim moves first, anyway, leaning his head in to kiss him.

Jon’s, well… _ surprised. _ It’s not the first time they’ve kissed– hardly, really– but… Tim’s just been so _ disconnected _ from the rest of them these past few weeks. Unhappy. Too far away, understandably, but now Tim’s so close, and his mouth is on his, soft and… _ hesitant _ in a way Jon’s not used to when he’s kissing Tim. It’s… different, but nice, and Jon only takes a moment to kiss back.

(Probably, he shouldn’t be doing this. It’s not… good, right? Tim’s grieving. They’re both a mess, in different ways, and it has been a long time since he’s been with Tim in this capacity. He’s surprised he even remembers how to kiss him. But it comes so naturally, the kiss, and Jon can’t help but just… give in. Tim _ wants _ this, and Jon, quite simply, wants to give him _ something _ that doesn’t hurt like hell. Even if they are making out in _ Danny’s bed.) _

Tim coaxes him up to kiss a little more easily, or maybe to pull off his glasses. Jon doesn’t know. But he almost pitches over the side of the mattress, cramped as it is, and he reaches out a hand to steady himself on the nightstand. When his hand hits something solid there, and knocks it to the floor, he finally breaks the kiss with a tiny gasp of terror, thinking he’s _ broken _ something of _ Danny’s– _

But it’s only books. They’re laying haphazard on the floor now, pages open to something architecture related. Undamaged. When he looks back around, Tim looks far, far more destroyed. 

“Oh God.” Tim laughs, and is smiling, but it’s… maybe the most pathetic sound Jon’s heard all day. “So stupid…” he murmurs, and _ keeps _ laughing.

Jon doesn’t know why he is. (Grief again.) But this mania isn’t preferable to the sadness, either. Jon reaches out his hand, and settles to curve it, unsure, at Tim’s neck. “You can still kiss me again, if you want,” he says, flat.

It serves to change the way the humor presents on Tim’s face, anyway. But he gives in, again. “… you say that and sound so _ sexy, _ Jon,” he jokes, but kisses him again, anyway.

It’s nice. But now Jon’s hyperaware of where they are– at Tim’s flat, at Danny’s memorial, with people downstairs, Jon can hear them, chattering and moving and laughing tired laughter, and they’re in _ Danny’s bed, _ that seems entirely two small for the two of them– and he’s hyperaware of the way Tim kisses a little harder, a little more desperate, and the way his hand settles at Jon’s knee, and then his thigh, and then his groin.

They’ve had sex before. Figuring out his sexuality re his relationship with Georgie had been an awkward first encounter with it, but Jon had come to terms with his comfort on the thing; he and Georgie had been _ fine, _ while they’d dated. And then, after, it had been a bit more teenage experimentation, and a lot less pressure when it wasn’t his virginity and when it _ was _ Tim, and it had happened a couple of times in the years following. So, yes, they’ve had sex. But not here. Not like this. Not chasing this type of thrill to dispel the numbness. And Jon absolutely does _ not _ want to have sex in Tim’s dead brother’s bed when anyone can walk in on them.

He doesn’t think Tim really wants to, either.

“Tim.” 

His warning goes unnoticed as Tim kisses him harder. He bites at Jon’s lip, and Jon cringes and prays it doesn’t mark. One hand’s at Jon’s shoulder, keeping him in place, while the other settles snug around the outline of Jon’s cock.

Jon grits his teeth, and shifts Tim’s hand away. “Tim.”

This is a bit more like the Tim Jon knows. Not that their times together had been _ wild _ in any definition of that word– Jon’s never been comfortable with that level of depravity– but Tim’s always been a bit of a free spirit. (That said, he's always taken good care of Jon.) But being a free spirit isn't good now. It’s just… desperation, now.

Tim’s hand somehow finds its way back, and Jon jolts when he _ squeezes. _

“Tim–” It comes out a little strangled, but he grabs Tim’s wrist again and wrenches it away this time. _ “Stop.” _

That seems to work, at least. Jon doesn’t know if it’s the force of his actions or his words, but Tim pulls back as though he’s been zapped with electric. For a second, he just _ stares, _ wild-eyed and breathing hard. And then the mortification trickles in, replacing the spark in his eyes with something horrified and sullen.

“Sorry,” Tim says, and pulls back even further. “I guess, er– ha, guess we went too _ hard.” _

Jon lets him pull away, and swallows at the sound of that laughter again. The joke’s lost on him, but it sounds like it’s lost on Tim, too.

“I’m gonna… I should go. Back down.” Tim clears his throat, and slides from the bed. His shirt’s wrinkled, and his hair’s still a mess. He doesn’t fix either. “Gotta be a good host. Be properly in mourning.” He laughs, again, once, and then turns and leaves the room.

Jon doesn’t follow him this time. He doesn’t blame him. Not really. Not at _ all, _actually, because… this is probably the closest thing they’re ever going to have to a funeral, considering Danny’s officially still ‘missing.’ This is… this is hell, Jon thinks vaguely, and sags into the pillows.

He’ll go down in a bit, when his body’s calmed down enough and he can look at anyone without feeling even _ worse. _ When he’s given Tim a bit of time to push past the guilt that’ll come after the last few minutes. (Tim’s good at guilt.) When they can all pretend to be okay again, for however long they can keep up their own respective masks.

Jon wonders if life will ever give them a break. He decides that, no, it probably won’t anytime soon. He’s got no reason for thinking that, no reason other than a bad feelingbut, well… they’re off to a bad start, already. He thinks it’ll be an uphill battle from here.

That’s… such a depressing thought. Jon sighs, shoves his glasses up to rub his eyes, and tries to relax while he can.

**Author's Note:**

> <strike>Tim's just a bit desperate to feel something other than sadness and anger T_T</strike>


End file.
